Chapter 7 - Christine’s six minutes
Christine said she went into the bathroom and threw up.
I believed that.
Her sister later confirmed hearing her.
Then Christine did something I had trouble forgiving.
She called no one.
Not me.
Not 911.
Not a neighbor.
She stood in the bathroom.
Washed her face.
Returned.
Why?
“Because Dad said it was over.”
I stared at her across our lawyer’s conference room.
“We’re talking about our son.”
“I know.”
“He was being held down by three adults.”
“I know.”
“You walked away.”
“I froze.”
“Then you unfroze enough to get a washcloth.”
She cried.
I hated how cruel I sounded.
Did not stop.
“Why didn’t you take him?”
“Dad said if I made a scene he would call police and tell them Jake had broken into his office.”
“So?”
“He said Jake would be taken away.”
I stared.
“You believed an eight-year-old would be arrested for a key?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
That was true.
Fear narrows intelligence.
Especially when fear belongs to someone raised by the person creating it.
I was beginning to understand that Christine had not become submissive to Harold that afternoon.
She had been trained for it across thirty-six years.
May you like
Explanation.
Not absolution.
